


Cracked Pleasures

by pantswarrior



Series: The Cultists' Cycle [8]
Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Angst, Bloodplay, Hurt/Comfort, Kink, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masochism, PWP, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-05
Updated: 2010-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:38:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another horrific prophecy for Sydney prompts both comfort and an unorthodox suggestion from Hardin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracked Pleasures

Sydney took a moment to furiously brush the tears from his eyes before answering the uncertain knock on the door. This time, he used the corner of the bedsheet he'd wrapped himself in, knowing that his claws had already left a few telltale marks around his eyes, and he murmured a quick spell to banish those as well. "Come in, Hardin," he called, seating himself carefully on the bed; with any luck, Hardin would be convinced to leave before the attack grew bad enough to force him to his feet again.

Or perhaps not, he thought as he saw the look upon his friend's face. The concern in his dark eyes told Sydney exactly what had been done, but the mage instead provoked the guilt that he knew lay beneath the surface - it might drive him away more quickly. "So you have been spying on me again, have you?"

Hardin, dressed only in the loose pants he'd worn to bed, frowned down at the floor. "...I cannot help but look upon you," he muttered, always honest. "Sometimes I happen to see things that I do not mean to, but..."

It was a terribly sweet sentiment, and in his unstable state, it was enough to set Sydney's tears off again. There was not really any point in hiding them if Hardin had seen earlier, and he knew that, but even so, he could not help covering his face, bowing his head. Without looking, he could sense Hardin's strong presence moving closer, and he held up a hand to halt him. "No, Hardin."

The firm warning was enough to stop Hardin where he stood; after ignoring this same warning a few times, he'd learned the price of disobedience. Sydney didn't even mean to do it, really - it was an instinctive reaction - but when these fits came upon him, he could not do more than warn his friend away. Hardin sighed. "Will you tell me what it was this time?"

Sydney shook his head, his head still buried in a metal hand, and Hardin gave a slight nod, understanding. They'd certainly been over this enough times by now that he should. Gazing out between shaking bladed fingers, though, he saw the tall phantom image appear before him, looking down with the touch of fear upon his face. _Someone will be dying, then._

Shaking his head harder, Sydney tried to banish the manifestation of Hardin's inner being from his Sight; Hardin had caught on, it seemed, and Sydney did not want to have to answer to his thoughts, particularly when they were the truth. The spectre remained, though, staring down at him with resignation on its face. _Someday it will be me he sees... I wonder if even then he will deign to tell me._

The silent words set Sydney off more than even the vision that had tormented him, and he clutched at his head in anguish as he gave up, rising to pace the floor of the bedroom again. Hardin hovered just behind, obviously worried, for he knew what must have just happened. "Sydney, _was_ it me?"

Trying to calm himself, Sydney leaned upon the wall, forcing himself to take deep breaths. "No." Not this time. That vision had come long, long ago, when he hadn't even known Hardin well enough for it to hurt. It was only with time that it had grown painful, gradually eating away at him little by little as he came to know Hardin better, and witnessed more and more of his kindnesses, just as this tonight.

Cautiously, Hardin came to stand at his side. "...It's all right if it was," he said softly. "I am not afraid to die. You and the brethren are the only reasons I now live... My only regret would be that I could not do more."

Every word drove Sydney's pain further into the center of his heart - even Hardin's worry was not for himself, but for Sydney. Unable to bear it, he turned and beat his steel fist against the wall in frustration. "It was not you, Hardin!"

Weariness overcame him, and he closed his eyes as he sagged against the wall, trembling with helpless fury, his arm still raised to the point of impact. As if the night's vision hadn't been enough to trouble him... It wasn't Hardin's fault, though, and he knew it.

"Sydney..." The mage sensed Hardin beginning to reach out for him, and tensed. After a moment, though, Hardin drew back. "I'm sorry, I..." he fumbled. "Is there anything I can do? Anything at all? A drink, perhaps...?"

Sydney shook his head again; he was already nearly ill from anxiety and exhaustion, and even the thought of swallowing something as light and soothing as Leá Monde's own wine made his gorge rise. Seeing how Sydney's breaths grew even heavier and more labored, Hardin looked upon him with pity. "Please, Sydney," he pleaded, "can you try to lie down? Whatever is to happen, it will not be stopped by you making yourself ill."

Wise words - ones Sydney might have spoken himself if the situation were reversed - but no matter how wise, words were not enough to ease the racing of his thoughts and his heart. "If only it were so simple," he managed between gasping breaths as he shakily resumed his pacing. Marking each step, he mentally counted them off as a distraction; exactly twelve paces around the room, each time precisely the same as the last. "You have no idea what it's like... to see someone in such agony... and to know that you can do nothing but watch."

Standing carefully to the side, out of Sydney's path, Hardin bowed his head. "I know that feeling better than you think."

The softly spoken words gave Sydney pause, and in spite of himself, tears flooded his eyes again. "Of course... Hardin."

"I only wish that you would allow me to touch you," Hardin continued quietly. "To let me steady your steps, wipe the tears away... kiss the bitter anger from your mouth..." A soft sigh fell from his lips. "...That I could take you into my arms and surround you with myself, so that nothing can harm you..."

Sydney nodded slightly. "I know, I know - it is not-" He broke the thought off abruptly, putting a trembling hand to his head as he tried to steady himself; trying to speak while gulping in too many breaths of the cool night air was making him lightheaded.

"Sydney!" Hardin's voice was alarmed. "Please, lie down!"

The words seemed distant, yet echoed in Sydney's ears much too loudly, and he shook his head, uncertain of whether it was a refusal of his friend's words or an attempt to shake off his dizziness. Everything seemed to be going pale, the world shot through with speckles, as if it were an ancient mural whose paint was flaking off little by little. "Sydney!" Hardin called to him again, but he felt as if it were somewhere far away, and the room faded to white...

He was painfully jolted back to reality by sudden physical contact - Hardin's hand under his head, an arm around his waist to catch him. In his hypersensitive state, even his friend's gentle touch seemed an assault - each finger a dagger that made his skin scream in agony - and he couldn't help but lash out against it, trying to push his friend away. Hardin's grip only grew tighter, and Sydney struck at him in a blind panic, his claws catching in the soft but firm restraints of flesh against which he struggled. Even so, Hardin's arms refused to relinquish their burden until they'd laid him gently upon his bed.

Given a respite at last, Sydney lay there trembling, fighting back the nausea and dizziness until he could think with some degree of clarity again. Hardin was kneeling by the bed, he found when he turned his head, and had not even left his side for the moment it would have taken him to move a chair closer. "Feeling a bit better?" he asked Sydney quietly.

His face would have been unreadable to anyone else, but Sydney recognized the fear and hurt that lay buried. As well, he recognized the curving pattern of the cuts upon Hardin's cheek - shallow wounds that still bled. The big man did not seem to take any real note of them, though. "A bit, yes," Sydney murmured breathlessly, forgetting himself in his weariness. "...John..."

Hardin shook his head. "Do not trouble yourself... I do not mind."

Too dazed to spend much effort on speaking, Sydney stretched a hand towards Hardin, motioning vaguely for him to rise. He reluctantly did so, and Sydney took in the sight with dismay - his friend's bare chest and arms oozed and dripped blood in arcs both small and great. As well, the hand Sydney reached listlessly towards him was stained red at the fingertips, and there were faint spatterings upon the steel palm. "You could have healed yourself."

"I could have," Hardin acknowledged. "But I deserve these wounds... I knew what would happen if I were to touch you, and I did so anyway. This is my penance."

Still shaky, Sydney narrowed his eyes in frustration. "You need no penance - I lash out at you in my pain because you are _here_ \- thus making for an easier target than the ones who are truly to blame for this fit of mine."

"...The gods?"

"No, never the gods. Those who will..." Thinking about what he'd seen in the night's vision made his breath quicken painfully again, and he clenched his fist against the bedsheets, making small, red-tinged holes in them with his bloodstained claws. He would have risen to pace again, had his head not still been spinning.

It didn't escape Hardin's notice, and he rested an arm upon the bed as he knelt, not quite touching Sydney, but close enough to offer comfort. Or perhaps something else, Sydney realized as his friend spoke. "...You can take out all the pain and rage you like on me," Hardin told him. "I would not mind... so long as it helps you."

Sydney was shaking his head before Hardin had even finished speaking. "You have your own pain and rage, friend - I would not add more to you."

"You _ease_ mine," Hardin whispered fervently.

Sydney was not sure what to say, and so after a moment's hesitation, Hardin continued. "Every time we make love, it is spitting in the face of the world that betrayed me. It is a declaration that I've forsaken that world... that it can go all to hell and I'll laugh as it does. That is how my rage is sated - and I would do the same for you, no matter what form your satisfaction may take."

"Hardin..."

"I've seen how you beat your fists on the walls and on the floor," Hardin continued. "I've seen you rip the sheets and curtains to shreds when these fits come upon you... I've felt it when we come together... I _know_ how much violence you hold inside, and I know that none of this gives you more than a moment's respite."

Distracted from the worst of his attack by Hardin's unexpected offer, Sydney rose to a sitting position, ignoring his dizziness. It was true that venting his frustrations through destruction seemed to make these attacks pass much more quickly, but the logical side of him never failed to remind him that it was childish and without any point; the pillows and curtains had not done anything to harm him, nor did they protest their demise. There was no real damage done at all, and he always found himself right back where he had started from.

Looking up to meet Sydney's eyes with fierce determination, Hardin showed not a moment's uncertainty. "I've offered my body and soul in your service... use them as pleases you best."

The idea intrigued him, and despite his misgivings, Sydney turned, laying the tips of his still-trembling fingers upon Hardin's offered arm. The wounds he made could always be healed, he thought. If Hardin was serious... perhaps he could try, he could see if it helped...

The razor's edge of one claw pressed down lightly, then more firmly. The blink of his eyes and the catch of his breath in his throat were the only outward signs that Hardin felt a thing as the claw broke skin, a welling drop of crimson surrounding the barely submerged tip. Sydney looked at him, uncertain if he felt release, guilt, or both, and Hardin didn't flinch away from his searching eyes. "It is all right," he whispered. "Go on, if you like."

"Hmph." Sydney smiled vaguely, looking at the single drop of new blood amidst the traces from his earlier assault, and decided he might as well take Hardin up on his offer. Very carefully, he dragged the claw downward across the back of Hardin's forearm, leaving a shallow red wound standing out against the sun-darkened skin, and still Hardin made no sound or move to discourage him, though his breathing grew quicker. So Hardin truly intended to let him do whatever he liked, the mage thought with a vague sense of wonder as he lifted Hardin's arm, examining what he'd done.

The paler skin at the inside of the arm caught Sydney's interest, and a sudden urge hit him with such force that he caught his breath. Even though he ached for it, he hesitated, wondering if he dared indulge himself in such a dangerous way. He knew that he shouldn't, he really shouldn't... But then, it had been a dream of his for many, many years, and after long moments of indecision, he gave up on resistance.

His hand holding Hardin's forearm parallel to his own, Sydney let the claw catch in Hardin's flesh and tore a path down his inner arm, from the wrist nearly to the elbow. Hardin gasped at the searing pain, and his eyes went to Sydney's, questioning and frightened, but even as he saw the blood beginning to run down his arm to the elbow, dripping upon the white bedsheets, he did not pull away or protest.

It was a dangerous wound, though, and so Sydney did not wait for too long before reassuring his friend. His left hand still holding Hardin's right, Sydney drew the injured wrist to his mouth, and he kissed it tenderly before murmuring a healing spell against the torn skin. Many times he'd thought he might have done this to himself, to put an end to all the voices and the visions, but the immortal had not had the luxury of even pretending he could end his life in such a way, as his arms of flesh had long ago been replaced by arms of steel. But Hardin trusted him, even so far as this deadly fantasy - even with his swordarm, Sydney realized suddenly - and years later it had been granted him, in a sense.

Sydney could not help but moan softly in grateful bliss as his right arm twined around his friend's neck, steadying both of them as the magical energies flowed from himself to Hardin, whose left arm went around his waist in response, his head bowed against Sydney's stomach where he knelt before the bed. His skin still abnormally sensitive, Sydney fancied he could feel each strand of Hardin's short hair as it pressed against him like thousands of needles, but though it remained nearly unbearable, this time he had no need to fight against the urge to respond in kind. Claws raked the back of Hardin's neck, drawing a louder moan from the swordsman, and Sydney smiled ironically. "You used to try to prevent this very thing from happening."

"Yes, yes," Hardin breathed. "But then it was an accident... and now... oh, gods..."

Sydney regarded him with concern. "Is it too much for you?"

Hardin's head shook fretfully against his stomach. "Go on."

It definitely did seem to ease his frustrations, and so Sydney released Hardin's arm, freeing his own left hand to slide down over his friend's bare back. Now with both hands, he dragged the claws upwards to Hardin's shoulders, feeling the shudders of his body beneath them, and he could not help but catch his breath at how wonderful it felt to vent his fear and anger in such a primal way. Hardin was nearly sobbing in his lap now, his body racked with stinging pain. "...Sydney..."

Seeing the state Hardin was in, Sydney brought the words of the healing spell to his lips once more, but paused as Hardin's inner being once more manifested itself. _It is just as when we made love..._

He'd been completely misunderstanding Hardin's response, Sydney realized with a start, looking down at the man trembling under his touch, his head laid upon Sydney's knees. Caught up in his own concerns, he'd failed to consider what it was that caused Hardin to prompt him thus. "Hardin..." he said, fascinated, placing one hand gently upon his head.

He began to say something else, but realized there was nothing worth taking the time to say, particularly when Hardin raised a bloodstained, trembling hand to push Sydney's knees apart and pull away the sheet Sydney had wrapped around himself when he had knocked. "Forgive my selfishness, Sydney," he whispered, his head still lowered. "...But... I need..."

Sydney was mildly surprised to find himself already quite aroused as well, as Hardin leaned forward to take him into his mouth, but he supposed it made sense. The feeling of power, the bliss he found in unleashing his violence - they were not entirely dissimilar from what he felt when they made love. Regardless, even if he had not been aroused beforehand, the motion of Hardin's lips thrilled him unimaginably, so sensitive was he at the moment, and he found it harder and harder to remain in control of his body.

Hardin had become quite good at this during the time since they'd met, and now his lips and tongue worked in tandem to caress Sydney's length in just the way that would drive him mad. It was to his benefit as well, he had discovered early on, for being able to pleasure Sydney in such a way excited him more than anything else. The edges of his claws dug into Hardin's shoulders as the larger man took him in deeper still, steadying himself by gripping Sydney's hips, and the mage bit his lip to keep from making a sound. The coppery taste of his own blood mixed with that of Hardin's, and knowing he was on the verge of losing control, he purposely stabbed the tips of his claws deep into Hardin's flesh, tearing at him viciously.

Hardin cried out under the onslaught, nearly choking, and that was enough of a chance for Sydney to push him away roughly. His breath was once more coming too quickly, and with each inhalation, he'd found his mental state lapsing back into that frenzied state of panic he'd been in when John had first arrived. Averting his face, he covered it with one hand, the other leaving blotches of red upon the bedsheets. All at once he was reminded of the vision he'd seen, and he swallowed hard against the taste of bile that rose in his throat.

To his credit, Hardin remained where he was after Sydney's coarse dismissal, half-sprawled upon the floor. "Forgive me, Sydney, forgive me," he stammered. "I should not have... Sydney, forgive me..."

Sydney waved a hand at him in a casual, dismissive gesture, which was at odds with the tension that made his body shudder. "No, Hardin, you helped," he gasped between gulps of air. "I... I simply..."

Uncertain of how to explain these fits that passed over him, and the way they affected him, Sydney looked down at Hardin helplessly, taking in the sight of his friend's marred body, and the bulge of his erection beneath the loose pants he wore. "...Again," Sydney told him after only a moment's hesitation.

"Again...?" There was no understanding in Hardin's face.

Sydney nodded. "Again. Come here, Hardin." Already he was beginning to feel calmer, and he gestured to the stained bedsheets beside him. "Lie down."

Still confused, but wanting Sydney badly, Hardin got to his feet and stumbled the distance to the bed, sinking down onto the mattress where Sydney sat. "Very good," the mage murmured, one claw tracing the contours of the muscles in Hardin's chest once he had lain down. "Obedience."

Hardin peered up at him with an expression approaching fear, and Sydney saw his own frighteningly intense expression reflected in Hardin's dark eyes. The Dark stirred, and once more Hardin's thoughts made themselves known; _I am beginning to think I should not have left my bed to come to him - not this night._

Such a simple, logical thought, amidst all the tangled mess of Sydney's own thoughts and emotions, caused the mage to burst into a laugh that was tinged with a hint of hysteria, and it only made Hardin's wary expression deepen. Sydney uttered another healing spell, and watched as the small wounds across Hardin's body knit themselves together, leaving only the drying blood to show that they'd once existed. "Let us start fresh..." he whispered, climbing on top of Hardin, straddling his hips.

Hardin caught his breath as Sydney's claws traversed his chest gently, as they had done many a time before. Far from easing his mind, it seemed to unnerve him all the more. "Sydn-" His voice was choked off as the claws suddenly dug in, slicing neat lines across his pectorals and making him shudder.

Stifling a sudden urge to laugh, Sydney knew that he was not entirely in his right mind, but he smiled kindly down at Hardin nevertheless. "Do you wish me to stop?"

Hardin swallowed hard. "...No."

"Good." Sydney's claws continued downwards, redrawing the lines of Hardin's musculature in angry red gashes, and Hardin's eyes squeezed shut in pain. A moment later, they half-opened again, but with the vague look that told Sydney his friend was scrying. He could not blame him, really, for wanting to leave his body for a moment, and he decided to give Hardin something more interesting to look at; with one claw, he began to etch a Kildean rune upon Hardin's chest.

"What does it say...?" Hardin mumbled curiously, his voice slurred with pain.

Sydney's breath still came too quickly, but now that he had a reason to breathe quickly, it did not seem so bad, and he gave Hardin a somewhat manic grin. "It is a mark of possession... in essence, it means _'mine'_."

Hardin's groan seemed to penetrate through him, touching the very center of pleasure in his body with its passion, and Sydney bent over his friend's chest, his lips brushing the broken flesh lightly, then parting to tease it with his tongue. Convulsing slightly under the touch, Hardin took hold of Sydney's slender waist, the tips of his fingers caressing the small of the mage's back as he pulled him closer, his own hips rising to press insistently against Sydney's through the thin fabric of his pants. Sydney tossed his head back, his back arching gracefully at the intense contact, and the sight of him posed in such a way excited Hardin further. His hands brushed down to the backs of Sydney's thighs, gripping them tightly before moving on to the ties of the pants he wore, shedding the garment so that nothing lay between them.

Sydney was trembling with an excess of energy and anticipation now, and he roughly forced a knee between Hardin's, spreading the larger man's legs. "Mine," he repeated in a fierce whisper, and he claimed his friend's mouth. His own was parched from his shallow breathing, and he drank in Hardin's warmth like a man dying of thirst. When they parted, he saw red smudges upon Hardin's lips - his own blood.

Hardin gave a barely audible whimper at their parting, and Sydney laughed a bit as he positioned the two of them a bit better. "Patience, dear Hardin - patience..."

"...Please..."

His pleading only made Sydney tease him further, leaning upon his elbows over him. "And what will you give me in return?"

The Dark flickered; _At least he seems to be acting more like his usual frustrating self._ Sydney smirked at the observation - indeed he did feel more like himself, and much more at ease than he'd felt just a short time ago. "I have nothing... that is not already yours," Hardin responded breathlessly. A claw lazily circled the rune on his chest, acknowledging his words, and he moaned softly. "Please, Sydney..."

To be honest, Sydney was aching as much for release as Hardin was, and so he nodded. "Yes."

This was going to hurt him, Sydney acknowledged silently as he positioned himself to plunge into the depths between Hardin's legs - he'd not bothered with lubrication - but then, Hardin seemed to enjoy the pain thus far, didn't he? He might as well... Without a word of warning, he thrust himself all the way in, not so fast, but steady.

He'd expected Hardin's shout of pain, but not his own cry added to it as Hardin's body resisted the invasion strongly. Contracting muscles squeezed him painfully, and his claws sought revenge in the flesh of Hardin's stomach. It only made matters worse as the swordsman's body convulsed with tension, each muscle drawing tighter still. Taking a deep breath, he waited until Hardin had become a little more used to the sensations, and his body relaxed just a bit - just enough so that Sydney could pull out a little ways, only to push in again, gentler than before.

Despite the unaccustomed friction, Sydney found that he was able to slip into their usual rhythm without much effort, though each thrust of his hips brought a soft, helpless cry from Hardin's throat. His body was slowly growing more tolerant of the motion, and Sydney heightened the excitement once more with the scrape of his claws down Hardin's thighs, drawing trace amounts of blood and increasing the tension. As well, blood slicked his own chest as he leaned forward across Hardin's body, metal arms going languidly around his friend's neck. Hardin's soft utterances still seemed to be sounds of pain, but now utmost pleasure lay behind them as well, and they only served to make Sydney's own pleasure soar to dizzying heights as he went deeper and deeper, ever pressing on towards the place that he knew would set Hardin's senses ablaze.

Even after so many times before, Hardin still handled him as if he were a porcelain doll, his hands firm but unfailingly careful as they roamed over Sydney's chest and his sides, rising to caress his cheek and his throat. This time, though, they trembled a little, as Hardin's body was overwhelmed more by pain than pleasure. Even so, he smiled faintly as he reached up to entwine his fingers in Sydney's hair. "...Beautiful..."

Sydney drew a sharp breath at the sight laid out before him - Hardin was just as he'd seen him in the dreams that had followed the vision from long ago. Right hand stretching towards him, bloodstained and twitching slightly with pain; a wide spot of crimson across his chest; a kind but weary smile that was likewise touched with blood...

"John..." Sydney whispered, closing his eyes against the eerie overlapping of dream and reality. Leaning forward, he gathered his friend into his arms with almost uncharacteristic gentleness, his lips pressed against Hardin's throat as he held him close; it had been given to him to know that he would be helpless when the time came, and this was the nearest he would ever come to being there for him. A silent sob shook his body. "I'm sorry..."

"...I offered, Sydney."

Of course Hardin had no idea what he was apologizing for, and it was all that much worse, for Sydney knew that the breathless response would have been the same even if he had known. Pushed to his limit of physical and emotional endurance, Sydney clung tightly to his friend, stifling the melancholy by covering Hardin's neck and shoulders in desperate kisses. The deep, barely audible rumbling in the larger man's throat told Sydney that he was approaching the edge as well, and Sydney obliged him, giving him his release by pressing into him harder, reaching the most sensitive place deep inside, but with surprising tenderness. Hardin's body went rigid in his arms, shuddering beneath him in a silent scream as the sudden warmth rose up against Sydney's stomach. Hardin's ecstacy was infectious, and Sydney too achieved orgasm, his arms wound so tightly around Hardin that the two of them could barely breathe as their bodies moved together in one accord.

Even after it had ended, Sydney still clung to Hardin, unwilling to move, his head laid upon his friend's chest. If only this was what the end would be, he thought to himself - if only we did not have to go on to do what has been ordained for us...

But they did, and he knew that the moment could not last forever. With a sigh, he pushed himself up from Hardin's chest, gazing down for a moment at his worn and battered friend, eyes closed in what would have been a look of peace, had his body not still been stinging from the slight injuries. Laying a hand gently upon his forehead, Sydney called upon the Light to close the wounds, and watched the rune he'd carved in the center of Hardin's chest fade away to nothing. It meant little, for he already knew that a rune had similarly been carved into Hardin's soul long ago, also by his own agreement.

Hardin smiled as the healing energy flowed over him, soothing him. "You didn't have to do that..."

"Yes, I did." If he was going to cause Hardin so much pain, even until the very end of his life, the least Sydney could do was heal the wounds that he was allowed.

Opening his eyes, Hardin looked up at him, and sighed lightly. Even through the sweet, dreamlike aftermath of their lovemaking, Sydney heard a sudden clear thought of Hardin's, as the swordsman gazed up at the smeared blood upon Sydney's chest, the red marks his fingers had left upon the alabaster skin of his throat and in the pale silk of his hair - _...I've gotten him dirty..._

It was simply too much, and Sydney began to laugh in spite of himself. "Ah, Hardin..." A sudden pleasant thought occurred to him, and he smiled down at Hardin. "I can be washed."

Hardin's smile widened. "Does that mean I am to wash you?"

His teasing was so wonderfully normal after what had passed between them, that Sydney leaned down to lie upon him again, touching his lips with a soft kiss. "We can wash each other, for you are even filthier than I. But... later."

Hardin did not protest, his arms slipping around Sydney's back, after a moment's hesitation when he saw the blood that still lay fresh upon them. "...You seem better."

"Yes," Sydney agreed, relaxing in Hardin's embrace. "Your... suggestion... seemed to do the trick." The visions still haunted him, but for the moment, Hardin was here, and they were together. Before the fateful day came, they might still have many such moments, and Sydney intended to savor each one.

"I meant it, you know," Hardin murmured sleepily, his hand caressing Sydney's hair. "You are welcome to use me in any way you see fit... anytime you like."

"You seemed to enjoy it as much as I did."

The observation caught Hardin off guard, and he tensed for a moment before his hand resumed its idle twirling of Sydney's locks. "...Whatever gives you pleasure gives me pleasure."

"Perhaps." Sydney had plainly heard the thought in that split second of tension - _We are both sick, he and I_ \- but he did not want to deal with it at the moment. It was enough to know that no harm had been done, and he let out a weary sigh.

In the silence they shared, they could both hear the songs of the birds that heralded the dawn, perched somewhere in the overgrown foliage that had sprung up among Leá Monde's ancient walls, and Hardin smiled faintly. "Your night has been long, has it not?"

"Indeed, but now it has passed." The day would bring more trouble and pain, undoubtedly, and the following night more visions, but they would always have these few moments before dawn. Sydney closed his eyes, letting himself drift into the peaceful sleep he had not received earlier, wrapped in the comforting warmth of Hardin's presence.


End file.
